


Recruitment

by BumbleLellie



Category: Supernatural, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester is Not Homophobic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Impala is a horse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Season 4 Rewrite, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), alternate universe- witchers, bobby is vesemir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleLellie/pseuds/BumbleLellie
Summary: Dean is a Witcher on the path, killing monsters for gold and doing his best to make a good go of his godforsaken life. That is, until, a blue-eyed sorcerer finds him- pulling them both into an ancient scheme that goes far over thier heads. It's the Witcher/supernatural crossover no-one asked for-but still hopefully good if you've seen only one of the source material.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Recruitment 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all- this first chapter is a bit choppy and quick, its kinda half prologue to get us up to speed for the full story! I hope you enjoy!

1- Recruitment 

‘’Excuse me.’' 

Dean span around, sword unsheathed in a moment, pressing against the throat of his opponent. He had been aware of the growing proximity of the man for the past quarter of a mile. He had hoped that the presence would remain further back as they headed toward the small village. He heard the undignified squeak as the man fell in surprise, and it was Dean’s first clue that this man was probably not going to be his demise. 

The boy was young, blonde hair piled delicately on his head, his fine clothes shining against the grey dirt on which he lay. The boy gulped, Adam's apple almost catching the steel at his throat. 

‘’Not a wise idea to sneak up on a witcher, boy.’’ Dean growled at the lad, hoping to scare him off. 

He removed the sword from his throat, sensing no threat from the man. Sensing no one but the two of them on the lonely road. His eyes darted quickly down the road, but they merely confirmed his assumptions. 

Dean hated the spear of curiosity that rose within him; a well-to-do boy alone with a Witcher on a dirt path, the village was barely a mile in front. He looked down the road into the wilderness from whence he had just come, wondering from where the boy had come. Idly, he wondered if he had been waiting for Dean to come back from his hunt. Dean cursed himself for his lack of concentration; a wound in his thigh was still stitching itself together the head of a griffin in the pack on his shoulder. He just wanted to collect his money, drink some ale and go to sleep. It had been a had contract, three days of pulling his body through caves and nests trying to hunt down the beast that had eaten almost four whole unsuspecting victims. Dean had found the bits it hadn’t eaten. 

Hastily the boy pushed himself onto his feet, brushing dust off of his breeches. He plucked his hat off the ground, a stupid feathered thing, and perched it on his head. 

‘’I am terribly sorry. I-I did not mean to startle you. My name is Samandriel Alfred van Shacken.’’ He paused to bow flamboyantly, nervous smile on his lips. Dean bristled under the formality, no good ever came from a man showing human respect to a witcher. 

‘’Well?’’ Dean made a show of sheathing his sword, pushing his pack back over his shoulder, and turning back toward the road. Thoughts already falling to the thought of getting himself an ale. 

‘’Oh- I am here to invite you to join me in the court of Michael's kingdom, to offer you a role of prestige and glory.’’ The boy had raised his arms in a well-rehearsed gesture of gallantry. 

‘’My job is to kill monsters and get coin, I care not about your glory.’’ Dean cut him off with a sharp bite, beginning to walk away from the boy, heading down the road. 

‘’We can offer you coin, more coin than you’d ever want. King Michael will make sure you want for nothing, sir!’’ 

Damn it, the boy was following him, stupid heeled shoes clicking as he skipped after Dean. His hands were talking with him. 

King Michael had a stronghold in the North, for many years the Northern Realms held dominion over the land, which was fine by Dean, as long as there were monsters to hunt it didn’t matter whose subjects they ate. As long as they could pay. But Dean wasn’t immune to the rumours, the rumours of cruelty and greed. Yes, he had heard too much of the northern kingdoms to want to be recruited. He learnt many years ago, nothing worthwhile ever came from a King asking for you by name. It wasn’t a trap he was falling into again. 

‘’Tell him ‘no’.’' Dean knew his insolence would get him killed eventually, but he could deny the boy, wait it out until the armies came to get him. 

‘'What? I do not think you understand, Sir-’’ Samandriel’s eyes glistened in the dusk, his eyebrows pulling together, one hand stretching out. 

Dean batted the hand away before it could touch him, forcing his voice into a growl, eyes boring into the young boy. 

‘’This conversation is finished, follow one more step and I will gut you.’’ 

Wise to his threat, the boy remained where he was stood. Dean walked away, disappearing over the rise of the hills, as Samandriel’s arms wound round his waist trying to hold himself together. 

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It was barely even four days later when the next man came. Dean saw him coming this time, a lone figure in finery, walking through the forest toward him. Once again, Dean felt no presence of anyone but this one man; no soldiers eager and waiting in the trees to ambush, no forces to, well, force him. 

Dean sighed putting the bait down against the tree, rubbing a gloved hand across his face. He wondered if killing the man would send a decent message, but before his thoughts could move to more graphic ideas the stranger was stood before him. Breath caught in his throat, not from the dark hair and tired expression of the man, but at the oceanic eyes boring into him. Magic swirled behind the blue, glowing in quiet intensity, it took a moment for Dean to pull his eyes away. 

Fuck, a sorcerer. 

The man’s voice was rough, like he had spent the last week drinking to himself, his accent reminiscent of the northern dialect. 

‘’My name is Castiel, I am here on behalf-’’ 

‘’Unless you are here to buy me dinner- fuck off, I’m not interested.’’ Dean tried his best to give an arrogant smirk toward the man, pushing the coil of discomfort down. Magic, he hated magic. Too unpredictable, and Dean liked predictable. 

‘’I am a sorcerer from the court of Michael-’’ 

‘’I know where you’re from, and the answer is ‘no’.’' Dean moved away from the man, heading back into the thicket of the trees, lest the Basilisk come for the bait. Castiel, tilted his head at Dean, holding it a moment after his back was turned before following him into the trees. 

‘‘I have not asked anything of you, Dean.’’ His voice was even, his eyes still boring into Dean’s as if he could read all his thoughts. Dean was sure he could if wanted to. But it wouldn’t get him very far. 

‘’But you will.’’ 

The man sighed, nodding his head. 

Dean contemplated the man; his shoulders pulled back, his clothes were clean but well worn, his dark hair messed up as if fingers had tousled through it. He didn’t seem like a threat, he looked like a good punch would knock him down for six, but Dean wasn’t going to test that theory on a magic user. No, he was going to get away. Back to humans who hate him and monsters who would hate him if they had the capacity for it. Back to concrete beings that aren’t going to use chaos to twist his will. Back to Sam. 

‘’You are right. They have sent me to recruit you.’’ 

Castiel made no move to grab him, no bindings wrapped round his wrists, but Dean fought the urge to circle his fingers around his wrist to check anyway. Keeping his face passive as he could, he threw his gaze past the man into the clearing where he had set his trap. In the distance he heard the disgruntled roar of a basilisk, and he knew in an instant which the greater threat was to him. 

‘’You can tell them to stick it where the sun don’t shine.’’ He grunted at the man, unsheathing his silver sword and running toward the location of the noise. As expected, the man did not follow. 

Dean had stalked off before being able to catch the small smirk playing on the other man’s lips. 

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Rain was jolting down toward the earth, unforgivingly bouncing back off the earth into Dean’s face as he grappled with the incline. His biceps burned with the effort of hauling himself up toward the flatter earth. His feet scrambling in the wet soil, purchase points crumbling underneath him. Blood sluggishly pumped from the gash on his side. 

Dean huffed in his effort, considering for a moment just letting go and hoping he survived enough until morning, when the storm would end and he could drag his sorry ass back to the tavern. His fingers twitched around the weeded grass, slowly pulling clumps from the ground. 

The hunt hadn’t gone quite as he had expected, he had made a fool’s error of assuming farmers had counted the correct number of arachas in their fields. And when the rain came across unexpectedly, he should have called it for the day, waited until the following morn before finishing the job. But coin was low and Dean hadn’t wanted to waste time on arachas of all things. He was cursing himself now, the arachas were dead but it had gotten a bit dicier than he would have personally preferred. The slash the last one left on his side seemed to hum in agreement.   
He felt the hand before he saw its owner. A searing heat against the ice of the skin on his shoulder. A hand that gripped his shoulder pulling Dean toward him, toward safety, and then a second hand hauling under his other armpit gaining purchase to pull him up. He heard the grunting and the dull thud of the man setting down behind him, breathing slightly laboured. Dean remained where he was enjoying the release of his muscles, giving himself a moment to relish their freedom. Once his moment was over, it took everything in him to roll onto his back, turning his head to look at his unexpected saviour. 

Dean moved a hand to cover his eyes from the rain, staring down the dark into unbelievably blue eyes. Great. He had been hoping one of the farm boys had come to find him, maybe a passing well-sighted merchant. Now was not the time to be facing a sorcerer who wanted to take him into the north. 

He knew he should get out the way, to make some sort of show of strength, but the man made no move to take him. As long as he didn’t move, Dean decided he could catch his breath in case he needed to make a break for it. His eyes raked over the trees, but once again it seemed the man was alone. Dean tried to think if that was good or not, maybe the man was unprepared, which would work for him. But maybe, the man didn’t need help to drag him to court, it was this thought that concerned him. But the man remained where he was, water running down his face in rivets. 

‘’Thanks I guess, but the answer is still ‘no’.’’ Dean’s voice came out hoarse and rough. He wasn’t even sure that Castiel could hear him over the sound of the drumming rain. He grunted as he shifted himself up, rolling onto his knees to get up. It took more energy than he wanted to admit to himself. 

‘’I understand, I shall leave you be.’’ Castiel stood himself up, wiping his muddied hands on his clothes. He seemed to think for a moment, head tilting to the left, before offering an outstretched hand towards Dean. 

Dean hesitated a moment before using the hand to heave himself standing. The man’s hands were no longer unnaturally hot, the wind and rain having cooled them. But they were soft despite the strength which he had used to haul Dean to his feet. Something in the back of his mind told him to keep holding the man’s hand like a child might hold his mothers, pushing the ridiculous thought away as quickly as it had come, Dean swallowed. He let go of Castiel, pressing his hand into his side, feeling the warmth of his blood. 

‘’Dean, will you be alright?’’ Castiel’s head tilted even further to the side, as if he was trying to workout a complex puzzle. Dean knew he wasn’t talking about the hole in his side, the one that was already healing. He felt small for a moment, unsure how to respond to the genuine concern in the other man’s voice. 

Stopping himself from a usual sarcastic remark, Dean merely nodded stiffly. When he turned around Castiel was gone. 

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His horse, Impala, was tethered to a branch nearby. The fire was already going, hares cooking over it their sweet aroma accomanying the gentle noises of cracking and popping. Dean was sat sharpening his swords, armour newly cleaned was placed out in the late afternoon sun. And Dean could feel the disruption on the new figure in the air, the hairs on his arm standing up. He took a gamble that the figure was the man that he thought it would be. 

‘’Here to offer me a contract again or are you here for the scenic views?’’ Dean kept his head down, continuing his task with well-practiced ease. 

Castiel came closer, in an almost familial gesture coming round the fire where Dean was, and nodding at him in greeting. Dean caught the movement out the side of his eye. Castiel took a moment to place himself on the log beside Dean, pulling his gloves off and letting his fingers stretch onto the wooden surface, fingertips finding grooves to rest in. He looked as if he were toying with his own thoughts, a frown on his lips. He leant in toward the heat of the fire, despite the soft warmth of the sun beating behind them. Mulling his words over for a few minutes. Dean felt no need to push him, merely sheathing his steel sword and pulling out the silver. 

‘’I wish I did not need to.’’ 

His face fell further into his frown, finally looking up at Dean’s face. 

‘’I didn’t want any part of this war either.’’ His voice was soft and rough, his eyes pulling back to the fire as Dean scoffed. 

‘’That’s the issue with war isn’t it?’’ Dean felt his shoulders tighten more than he felt the sudden anger flare in his gut, as if his body was responding to an emotion he could barely acknowledge. He found his voice low and bitter despite this. ‘’Nobody gets to choose to be a part.’’ 

He had placed the silver sword to the side, standing up abruptly. His thick boots kicking the earth as he walked away. Castiel did not respond, and Dean felt the words leave his lips to fill the emptiness between them. 

‘’No, not nobody.’’ He threw more sticks into the fire, hands looking to snap and fling the wood. ‘’What about your king, the one who tells his men to kill children in their beds? What about all the rulers: wanting more land, more money, more whores? Always wanting more than they deserve? Do they not choose, do they not choose to say they don’t have enough?’’   
He stared at Castiel this time; golden green meeting blue. His fingers still worked breaking the last twig into splinters. 

‘’I will leave you be, I see I am not welcome here.’’ He was up, putting the soft leather gloves back on, pulling his cloak around his hunched shoulders. There was no urgency to the movement, just a quiet lethargy. It made Dean almost want to apologise, but he cursed himself for the stupidity of the thought. This man was a threat. He had to remember that this man was a threat. 

Castiel seemed ignorant of the thoughts, and Dean focused on tensing himself for an ambush, his body edging toward the swords still leaning up against the log at Castiel’s feet. It was all for naught, Castiel made no move to do anything, instead looking at Dean with the usual perplexed expression. He sighed deeply, stepping over the log.   
Before finally stalking off toward the tree line, Castiel turned, lips pursed. ‘’I am sorry, for what it’s worth.’’ 

He left before Dean could respond. Dean wasn’t even sure he would have responded given the chance. A small part of his brain nagged at him about something, but he was too out of focus to understand the voice’s meaning. Instead he stood, looking at the log where Castiel had been sat, shoulders lowering. The remnants of his outburst ebbing out his stomach.   
A figure emerged from where Castiel had just disappeared in the wood. Dean knew it was Sam, not from the long gangly limbs, but from the sudden quiet in his chest.   
He didn’t have time to wonder if Sam had seen Castiel, before Sam was speaking, jerking his head over his shoulder. 

‘’New contract?’’ 

If he noticed Dean being tense, he didn’t mention it. Choosing instead to turn the spit on which the hares were still cooking. Taking out his own swords and beginning to work them. Dean watched his brother, enjoying the calmness which came with watching him safe. 

‘’Another one of Michael’s scouts.’’ Dean replied easily, not sure what else he could say about Castiel. 

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The bar was busy enough that no-one was bothering him, just the way Dean liked it. He felt the familiar warmth of alcohol in his gut. He felt no injuries pulling themselves together, and he had sated his hunger with an unexpectedly well-seasoned stew not an hour hence. Dean could count the nights he had had in the last year like this on one hand. Which, of course, is why fate let him catch the eye of Castiel. 

Castiel moved through the crowd with ease, his fine blue clothes were reason enough for the paltry locals to unconsciously shift out the way. He arrived at the bar, sitting next to Dean easily.

‘’Hello Dean.’’ 

Dean hummed at the quietness of the statement. He jerked his head toward the bartender, who promptly refilled his drink, pouring another for Castiel. Castiel nodded his thanks, taking a deep drink, baring his teeth after he swallowed. Dean watched the other man’s throat bob before stopping himself, looking instead at the tired face. Castiel seemed older, as if his bones and sinew weren’t pulsing with mana keeping him young, like despite it all he was just mortal human. 

It wasn’t the first time Dean had noticed the tight shoulders, the hunched exhaustion of the man. Now Castiel was closer could smell chamomile and lavender, layered over the spicy crackle of chaos, Dean stopped himself leaning into the scent. 

‘‘Lucifer has increased his stronghold in the south. Michael has asked me to find you.’’ Castiel held his cup toward the barkeep, letting him refill it. Dean considered his rebuff for a moment, attributing the consideration to the liquid in his hand. 

‘’What use is one man against an army, Cas?’’ Dean shook his head, and Castiel tilted his head at the sound of the nickname. 

He paused long enough to sip his drink, seemingly forming his words carefully, lips twitching minutely as he swallowed. 

‘’People are dying, battles are being lost. You have a chance to help, I won’t deny you that it won't be easy, but it would be the lesser evil. It’d be a chance to fight the greater evil-’’ 

‘’Lesser, greater, middling, it’s all the same. I can’t say I have only done good in my life, but if I am asked to choose between evils, I prefer not to choose at all.’’ Deans tone had lowered into that octave again, the one that sounds like a bitter warning. 

He knew if Sam were here he would have snorted at his idealistic speech, would have asked him how many drinks he had had or if he had rehearsed his speech in the mirror before coming to the bar. But then, Sam had always been smarter than Dean, he would have found a way for Castiel to leave and not find him again. 

Castiel did not snort at him, instead his lips pressed together in a tight line, his head nodding. They finished their drinks in silence, allowing another round to pass. Drinking together in a comfortable silence. Castiel pulled out his coin purse, pressing the coins into the wood. As the barkeep wandered back over, Castiel stood, pulling his cloak further across his shoulders. 

‘’For his tab and mine,’’ Castiel nodded at the bar keep, but once the man had left to his other patrons, Castiel turned addressing him sagely. ‘’Take care of yourself, Dean.’’ 

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It wasn’t even a week later that the shadow of Castiel broke free of the trees, the man walking across the clearing toward Dean. The witcher was aware of him, the tension in his shoulders making it obvious who it was, if Dean hadn’t already known. He momentarily put down the pack he was carrying and stopped walking so that the other man might catch up easier. 

‘’Can’t stay away- can you, Cas?’’ Dean found his mouth forming a true smile, it grew as the dark haired man scowled. 

‘’My name is Castiel.’’ He grumbled, focusing on Dean’s face. 

‘’Ok, Cas’’ Dean picked his pack back up, settling it comfortably on his shoulder. Castiel watched his expression, a youthful smirk, one usually reserved for Bobby or Sam. 

‘’Dean.’’ The tone was a warm warning, but the seriousness did not meet the man’s eyes. And so, Dean merely rolled his eyes at him. He resumed his walk, settling for a friendlier pace, and was not disappointed to find Castiel slotting in perfect synchronicity of his steps. He wondered if Cas had any idea where they were headed, if he had any business of his own in the area, or if he was merely here for his boss’ benefit. Dean supposed that with the ability to magic oneself from place to place, didn’t really matter if you knew where you were or not. 

‘’Go on, do your speech.’’ Dean looked over at Cas, the man’s lips smirked. 

‘’Join us.’’ 

‘’No.’’ 

‘’Ok.’’ 

‘’Is that it?’’ Dean waited a moment, wondering if it was the warmth of the sun or the freedom of the road that made him feel calmer today. The voice in the back of his head telling him he should be reacting to a threat, but the warmth of chamomile and lavender stamped out any real inclinations to act on it. 

‘’For now.’’ Castiel pursed his lips, putting his back into the sunlight, sighing. 

Dean shrugged, accepting for at least this afternoon that that was all that was needed from him. It saved him having to force any more arguments. And, for whatever reason, he didn’t want to argue with Cas. Instead, he just walked in step with the man beside him, and they stayed in comfortable silence the best part of an hour. They walked toward the dark formation of habitation nestled at the end of the dusty road, ambling with no real urgency. He felt the warm summer sun in his bones. Castiel had removed his cloak was carrying it over one arm, Dean absently thought he looked smaller without it. When the dull sound of church bells rolled over the dappled hills, Dean noted how close they were to the village, and looked across at his companion. 

Like a spell had been broken, Cas’s footsteps slowed, he looked toward the village and then at Dean. With a small smile, he moved is hand, pulling chaos around. The portal appeared and Dean realised it was the first magic he had seen Castiel perform. His body responded without him, making small steps further away, his fists clenching. 

As if sensing his unease, Castiel made a swift exit, merely giving a quiet, ‘’goodbye, Dean’, before he stepped through, the portal crackling behind him. 

Dean made his teeth clench, swearing through his lips, as the world seemed to close around him. He started to resume his walk; the sun too oppressive, the ground too solid under his feet, his chest too tight. 

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Dean was sat in the corner of another inn, dunking solid bread into his soup in a desperate attempt to make it soft enough to chew. As if sensing the stillness in the air his head looked up to the door, like a well-trained dog, he huffed to himself. Castiel was in usual regalia, but Dean didn’t miss the limp in his gait as he pulled himself over to the table, nor the unnatural pink blossoming across the right side of his jaw. 

‘’You alright?’’ Dean huffed, mouth still full of bread. 

Castiel groaned quietly as he sat down, leaning back into the chair. 

‘'Hazards of war. I will be fine.’’ His voice was tight but even, and he moved one hand to grip his side, which seemed to help him jolt up a little further. 

‘'Can’t you just –poof- it away?’’ Dean flexed his fingers outwards in illustration, finally swallowing the chunk of bread. 

‘’I could ‘poof it away’’ Cas squinted at Dean, taking his usual moment to think through his choice of words, ‘’but, sometimes- I like to remember what it is to be human. There is no better   
reminder than that of pain.’’ 

‘’You remember being human?’’ Dean asked, pushing his bowl aside, he was done fighting with soup. 

‘’I don’t know if I ever really was fully human exactly, not like you. But I have, not memories, but notions of life before. Do you recall your time as a human?’’ Castiel smiled sadly, propping the non-reddened side of his face us with his fist. 

‘’I remember.’’ It was a solid statement, the voice he usually used to end a conversation. Castiel hadn’t seemed to pick up on the tone. 

‘’What was it like?’’ The man’s voice was earnest, soft enough that Dean didn’t feel it as a threat. 

But Dean also knew he didn’t want to think about trying to explain those first few years of his life, how happy he remembered being as if it were yesterday. He didn’t want to think about his mother, or his father, or baby Sammy. He didn’t want to think about a world before monsters. He didn’t want to think about the world after monsters either. He didn’t want to try and explain to a sorcerer of all people how they said witchers didn’t have full feelings, and Dean was sure that was the only reason his feelings hadn’t physically snapped him in half years ago. 

Instead he buried it down, stopped thinking of soft blonde hair and looked at the open blue eyes. 

‘’Like you said pain.’’ 

Cas didn’t say anything else for a moment, just tilted his head in that way which suggested he could read Dean’s mind, before asking Dean about what he was doing in town. Dean told him about the kikimora hunt; he told Cas the best bits of the lore and how he was planning on dealing with it. They sat in comfortable conversation, Dean merely telling Cas about different hunts and monsters, Castiel asking relevant questions and nodding along with him. They spent the best part of a couple of hours conferring along with one anothers’ anecdotes and theories, eventually being interrupted by a barmaid on mission to retrieve Dean’s half eaten bowl of soup. When she asked if there was anything else she could get them, Castiel politely declined, placing a couple of coins onto the tabletop, seemingly having decided that the evening had come to a natural end. 

‘’I should get back to court. Thank you, Dean.’' Though his still sucked in his breath as he stood, Dean was glad to see that the other man seemed more stable on his feet than when he had arrived. 

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‘’Cas!’’ Dean stood up in greeting, he had seen the man approaching for a few minutes, smirking at his attempt to place his soft leathered boots on the steep face of the incline, clutching nearby branches with desperate fingers, to reach Dean’s temporary camp. He was dressed in deep blue cloth, golden suns embroidered on the thick fabric, a smear of dirt across one cheek. 

Dean didn’t think to question why his smile widened on its own upon noticing the mark. 

‘’Dean. How are you?’’ Castiel’s low voice was gruff from the sharp incline up the hill, and Dean wondered idly he hadn’t just portalled himself closer. 

‘’Same shit, different day.’’ 

They settled on the ground, Dean passed Castiel his waterskin, the man took it and drunk gratefully. Despite the cool breeze and overcast weather, Castiel tilted is head to the sky. Dean couldn’t help but think about how feline the gesture was, no matter where they were Castiel seemed to gravitate towards the warm. To distract himself, Dean took a sip of the water too. 

‘’I was thinking about the baits you were telling me about, for griffin and basilisk-’’ Castiel paused as if asking for Dean’s permission to continue. Dean made a gruff noise in his throat, eyes scanning the horizon. 

‘’I wondered if you had considered using dry ingredients for the traps, that was you would be less reliant on finding a herbalist mid-hunt. You would just need a bit of water and a way to grind up what you need.’’, he continued, Dean could feel the man’s eyes on him, but he was getting used to the heavy weight of Castiel’s stares and it didn’t bother him so much anymore. 

Dean nodded, it wasn’t a terrible idea exactly. Yet the non-existent criticism still prodded tenderly at his ego, and that old voice in the back thought it was no surprise that a sorcerer with absolutely no training would be a better witcher than he was. 

‘’When would I find time to dry out a whole fucking store cupboard?’’ His voice came out cold, despite knowing he was taking the suggestion too personally. 

Castiel continued looking at him, as he avoided his gaze by staring at the trees hoping they’d spontaneously catch on fire. Dean was sure Cas was doing his head tilt and squinting in that way that made him feel see-through. 

‘’You’re right of course,’’ Cas’ voice was soft, reassuring. Dean felt embarrassed about the treatment, before telling himself that he could be a bastard if he wanted to be. The only issue was he didn’t want to be a bastard. Castiel hummed in humour, ‘’Inn keeps might not take kindly to drying out dung in your room.’’ 

Dean appreciated the attempt at levity, huffing in agreement. Deciding that he must be tired, that he was being ridiculous, Dean stood up and rummaged in his pack. He returned with two pieces of thick salted jerky, passing one to Cas as a soft apology. Castiel thanked him, pulling into the meat with his teeth. 

‘’It’s not a bad idea. I'll ask Sam about it.’’ Dean tried not to feel proud of the soft smile he pulled from Cas. 

‘’Your brother?’’ 

Dean and Castiel knew there was another question in there. Witchers did not have family, not of blood, not usually. Many people had taken to demanding to know how and why one family would put two children through the trials. Many more had made their own assumptions. It is why they rarely brought it up to lay folk, it was none of their business. But Castiel did not pry, and Dean sensed that there was no curiosity behind the statement, he wasn’t asking for an explanation, just an acknowledgment to Dean that he knew. 

‘’Mm, he’s the brains of the family’’ Dean smiled, finally looking back at Cas, sucking in his breath at the blue eyes. 

‘’What does that make you then?’' 

‘’Everything else, obviously.’' He gave Cas his signature wink, causing Cas to beam a full toothed smile at him. 

Dean was happy that they managed to fall back into easy conversation, mostly about horses and a little more about different monsters. Castiel, as it seemed, had been reading up on some bits of lore, asking Dean about some of the things he had read. Dean was happy to answer, and surprised to find a few things he hadn’t known, he took a moment to comit them to the back of his head to test out on his next few hunts. 

They sat by the fire they built together, he had planned to move from the top of the hill before dark, but it didn’t matter too much. The forest was quiet and he was better equipped than a mortal man, especially with a sorcerer beside him. The air was cooling as dusk turned to evening, and Dean watched Cas unconsciously shift closer and closer to fireside. They ate more of Dean’s provisions, sharing the waterskin back and forth. 

‘’Why me?’’ Dean looked into the flickering flames, prodding the lit logs with a twig, eying the flares of red embers it caused. He knew he didn’t need to embellish his question. Castiel made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, pulling his legs closer to his chest, fingers laced under his thighs. 

‘’There is....you must understand, they do not want you knowing this. There is a prophecy-’’ his voice was even, considering. 

‘’A prophecy? About me?’’ Dean continued staring into the fire. 

‘’You are a small part of it, yes.’' Castiel’s words were careful, in a way that unnerved him, nothing that couldn’t be outright was good news. But Castiel continuing with a soft sigh: ‘’I am told that we need you to win this war once and for all.’' 

Dean nodded his head, pulling his fingers across his stubbled jaw. Tiredness set into him. Finally managing to pull his gaze to the fire softened features of his companion. 

‘’That’s a lot of pressure on one man.’' He finally smirked at Cas, hoping to cover the concern settling in his gut. 

‘’You aren’t just a man.’’ 

‘’Yeah? Well neither are you.’’ Dean looked back into the fire, hoping the light would hide the faint blush crawling up his neck. 

‘’Yet, I am expendable. I can only hope to mitigate some of the war’s damage, I cannot end it.’’ 

Castiel grunted as he stood, kicking his legs to get the feeling back into them. He pulled his gloves back on. Dean felt cold all of a sudden. 

‘’Stay. Drink with me.’’ He hated how forced his voice came out. 

‘’I would like nothing more than to stay here with you. But I do not want to risk being missed. Sleep well, Dean.’’ There was the usual casual honesty in his voice, igniting a fraction of heat in Dean’s chest. Castiel gave him a small, sad smile, nothing like the ones he had shared earlier. 

‘’I’m sorry, Cas. See you around.’’ Castiel did not ask him what he was sorry for and wasn’t sure he knew exactly. It was more a blanket apology. Sorry for asking him to stay. Sorry for making the man‘s life difficult. Sorry for not being able to say ‘yes’. Sorry that he had acted a volatile child all day. Sorry that Castiel had to leave. 

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‘’So you’re the sonofabitch that’s been following my brother.’’ The insult flung out of his mouth as if it were one word, a well-worn phrase. Sam grimaced, head leaning back into the pillow behind him. the words were slurred and uneven, said through clenched teeth with protective force. ‘’Didn’t you ever learn ‘no’ means ‘no’?’’ 

Castiel did not say anything, merely pulling up Sam’s undershirt and carefully smearing white paste over the purpling skin where black veins stretched from his wound. He was rewarded with a guttural grunt, Sam’s shoulders pulling away from the bed as he braced himself. Castiel wiped his hands on an old rag, turning to route around Dean’s bags, scrutinising the glass bottles with squinted eyes. 

‘’Here,’’ Castiel pushed a potion toward Sam’s lips, holding the bottle steady as he drank. He had one hand braced on Sam’s forehead keeping him pushed against the pillow. He remained like that as his body finally gave into exhaustion, and Dean re-entered the room. 

Castiel removed his hand, wiping the sweat from Sam’s brow onto his trousers. Pulling his eyes away from the taller man to meet the hunched form of an exhausted Dean. Dean was leaning against the door frame; his armour had been hastily pulled off and sat in a heap by the other bed. Sam’s blood had stained his undershirt red, his hands were no better, the skin itched from the blood between his fingers. Dean knew he had spooked more than just the landlord with his appearance. 

He was staring hard at Sam, frowning at the too big body on the bed. His stupidly long hair looking too dark against the paleness of his face. He flinched as he felt a soft hand on his arm, his head snapping to the side to meet the earnest blue gaze. 

‘’He should rest now, he will be alright by morning, if he were human-’’ but the low baritone offered no comfort, and he felt himself jerk away from the gentle grip still on his arm. 

‘’Well he isn’t so it doesn’t matter.’’ He huffed, stalking across to the other bed, sitting on it tiredly, body angled to look at his little brother. Little brother, he grunted in his head, watching Sam’s feet and ankles hang off the edge of the bed. He studied Sam’s face, it had fallen from the pinched expression he had made the entire journey back, and was now slack. His breathing was even, the chest rising and falling. Dean forced his own breath to match his brother's, feeling the adrenaline tingle out of his fingers as it dissipated. 

He tried not to think about how close it had been. It wasn’t the first time one of the brothers made it through on the narrowest odds, its why they so rarely hunted together. Try as he might, Dean could never focus on doing what needed to be done when Sam was next to him. He hated seeing him hurt, and the idea of not seeing him again- 

The tight coil of fear returned. He was supposed to look after his brother. It was the first thing engrained into him, the only thing that came above his training and all his witcher instincts. 

Look after Sammy, Dean. 

He was so close to having failed. So close to losing his brother, if Castiel hadn’t shown up when he had – 

Dean was pulling Sam’s body toward Impala, teeth clenched sputtering comforting nonsense through them at Sam anyway. Even for a witcher, Sam was a lot of dead weight to drag, his moaning was getting quieter and quieter as Dean pulled them through the grass. He heard Cas before he saw him, heard the thundering push of his boots on the ground as he ran. Without asking, Castiel pulled Sam’s other arm around his shoulder helping hoist the limp form. Dean could feel the burning heat of his touch as their arms met across Sam’s back. With the weight shared they made for a faster pace. 

When they had reached the horses, he helped Cas lay Sam on the ground, and Cas pulled his own sleeves up over his forearms, muttering under his breath. Dean helped Cas remove what was left of Sam’s armour. Doing exactly as he was told, letting the gravelly voice be his focus. When Castiel asked for water, Dean passed it to him, watching as Castiel poured it over Sam’s skin; washing away the congealing blood to look at the injuries. Dean looked away momentarily. Not normally queasy to blood, he bit back a groan at the sight of Sam’s arm and side. He tried not to think about how he could see his ribs. He looked back focusing instead on Castiel, who was kneeling beside Sam, expression wilder than he had ever seen it. Moments later Cas’ hands glowed blue and Sam’s injuries began healing themselves. 

Sam groaned in pain underneath the hands, screaming as Dean heard bones snap back together. Sam’s eyes were screwed shut, the noises inhumane. He looked away, waiting for the screams to stop, and when they did he heard Cas pull is brother onto his side, and then the sound of Sam retching. Cas said something or another about venom, asking Dean to help him get Sam onto the horse. They heaved Sam’s limp body over Impala. Dean setting up behind him, attempting to hold his brother steady, Castiel taking Sam’s horse. 

When they arrived at the inn, Sam was finally lucid enough to help them drag him upstairs to the bed. Castiel immediately started rifling through their bags, pulling out handfuls of herbs, and sniffing through them. With practiced precision, he mashed components into a salve. And it was then Dean had gone to deal with the horses and an unhappy landlord, telling Sam he would be back in a few minutes, his brother had sworn at him, and Dean had never been happier to be called such things. When he returned Sam was alive, in one piece and asleep. 

Coming back to the present, he watched Sam’s face some more, waiting for the last of the fear and worry to leave him. When he looked up Castiel had tidied the area; moved the mess of the herbs and placed their armour and bags in a neater pile. He was using a bucket of water to scrub his hands and arms free from blood, soap clenched in his fists. Dean looked between Castiel and Sam, noticing that his brother smelt of chamomile and lavender, the healing paste thickly coating his skin. More evidence that Cas had truly healed his brother. 

And he had no idea to repay him. Well, he had one. 

‘’Fine, I will join your fucking war.’’ The words hurt to grind out. He watched Castiel whip his head up at Dean, dropping the soap into the bucket. His expression moved from shocked to outraged. 

‘’No.’’ Castiel looked at him with a seriousness he had never possessed in front of Dean before. ‘'No, I will not make you repay me in this way.’' 

Dean considered him, and nodded gravely. Words caught in his throat; he didn’t know how to say thank you for this. Castiel swallowed, the sombre expression falling to something more akin to exhaustion. 

‘’Dean, tell no-one of this.’’ His voice was softer, quiet against the back of Sam’s deep breathing. His eyes bored in Dean’s with an intensity at made Dean hold his breath. 

‘’Cas- ’’ his voice was hoarse and scratchy, throat too thick to form words around. 

Something is his tone or on his face must have conveyed something, as Castiel ran a clean hand through his mused hair fluffing it into worse tufts. He came over to the bed, raking his eyes over the witcher assessing something that Dean couldn’t fathom. He untensed around the soft hand on his shoulder, on the exact spot it had been weeks ago when Cas had saved him from that damn cliff, and felt it push him. He went with the gentle pressure, allowing Castiel to lay him back on the bed. Cas' thumb stroked his shoulder for a slow minute, staring sadly at Dean. 

‘’Sam is okay. Rest now, we will speak soon.’’ Dean missed the soft feel of the hand on his shoulder as it pulled away, but he did not watch as Castiel left, merely heard the door close behind him. He did as he was told nonetheless, and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him. 

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He felt the buzz of magic, aware of the portal behind him, but he made no immediate move toward it. Fighting with his body to trust Castiel, he didn’t turn around until he had finished his job of buckling Impala’s saddle bags. Smile already fighting to reach his face he turned. 

‘’Ca-Where’s Castiel?’’ Dean’s voice went from light to harsh in a beat, his brows furrowing in threat. 

The man before him was portly. He had grey thinning hair, and the usual air of arrogance carried by sorcerers. he was dressed in a similar style to Castiel, but the colours were a dark silver, shimmering in the sun. He had a twisted smile on his lips. 

‘’Busy.’ The man made no effort to expand his answer. 

‘’So who are you?’' Dean forced his feet to stay where they were, eyes hovering over the man’s shoulder where the portal was still open, shimmering ominously. 

‘’Zach-’’ 

‘’You know what? I don’t care. No.’' Dean cut him off with a short finality, face impassive and shoulders pulled back. He enjoyed the twitch of annoyance on the man’s face, enjoying that his insolence had met its mark. 

‘’No?'’ He was met with an arched eyebrow 

‘’No, I will not join your war. Now fuck off.’’ Dean made no attempt to move, staring the man down, keeping his eyes locked and cold. 

‘’I am not so easy as Castiel.’’ The man smiled as if he knew something Dean didn’t, Dean felt the unease crawl down his spine at the mention of Cas. 

‘’Easy? The guy has been asking me to join your cause for weeks.’’ Dean felt heat in his stomach as he tried to defend the other man, not sure why his brain though it necessary to do so. 

‘’With no success.’’, he paused, raising his eyebrow at Dean again, ‘’I am not asking.’’ 

Suddenly, Dean felt a jolt to his stomach like he been punched by a bear, caught off guard he doubled over, lungs expanding to try and pull in air. A second jolt hit his shoulder, pushing him stumbling backward, but Dean had anticipated it enough to brace his body against the force. He growled low in his throat. The man came closer, managing to catch one of his wrists in a glowing manacle with a swift, practiced manoeuvre. Dean jerked his arm away pulling the other manacle hanging with it. He bared his teeth at the man, before lunging forward. 

He manged to kick the man in the hip, but with too little force to cause more than a startled grunt. The man held his hands up, backing away from the hunched witcher. He looked at Dean’s clenched fists and lowered stance with bemused interest. He stayed still for a second, straightening out his doublet, brushing the dust caused by Dean’s boot on his hip. Dean didn't like this, he didn’t like this at all. His eyes darted to Impala; knowing escape was his best bet right now. She was saddled and ready, he just needed a good, quick movement. 

The man seemed to follow his thoughts, tutting at Dean, as if he were unimpressd. He nodded his head toward Dean’s horse, muttering something under his breath. Impala reared on her back legs, kicking out to nothing before bolting to the road. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, watching Impala run off had lost him a second of concentration. Enough time for the other man to pull something from his pocket into his hand. What looked like sand spilt through the gaps in the mans clenched fingers. As he chanted, Dean felt his throat close an invisible hand pressed against his throat, holding him still. The pressure increased, and he felt his eyes watering, his body shaking as it tried to fight back. The pain lasted too long, is lungs burning at the loss of air, but finally sweet black dots started forming against his vision. He stared at the other man’s eyes, magic coiled in them, harsh and unforgiving. This was why he hated sorcerers. How had he let himself forget?   
Dean was unable to say when he had fallen to the floor, his mind only able to focus on the inviting blue of the cloudless sky. He didn’t even feel the second manacle being clicked in place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting more toward the meat of the story now, I hope you enjoy.

Consciousness felt like swimming through treacle. His sense of space twisted in his stomach, so Dean locked the nausea swelling in his throat with harsh gulps. The smell of lavender and chamomile floated through to his brain, and before he could feel repulsed, he felt safe.

‘‘Cas?’’

Dean blinked his eyes open, the light stabbing into the back of his skull. Dean felt the weight of the mattress shift, then the room became darker, until it was bearable to open his eyes fully. He saw Castiel return to his side, but he did not sit on the bed again. Standing, instead, where Dean could see him.

‘’Hello Dean.’’

He looked almost the same as the last time he had seen him; except this time his clothes were clean and well pressed, his face showed signs of tiredness but his hair wasn’t tufted in uncontrollable strands. Dean could only guess the expression as one of anxiety, and he felt the flare of anger in his gut.

He pulled his eyes away from the man, finally checking his own body. He was clothed, unarmoured in bed, his limbs seemed heavy and unresponsive. He recalled the brown powder, how it had pulled him under darkness. Chaos used against him, a flash of betrayal going through his chest.

‘’What the fuck is this, you son of a bitch?’’ He levelled his best glare toward Castiel, trying not to let his bodies sluggish refusal to move bother him. Castiel for what it was worth had the decency to hide his eyes, looking down to the rooms cobbled floor, shoulders pulled into his lithe frame.

‘’I am truly sorry, Dean. Zachariah thought my efforts were unsatisfactory, he thought it best-’’ His voice was even, but the timber was flat and rehearsed. And Dean didn’t care to hear for it.

‘’Yeah, and what did _you_ think in all this?’’

Just as he asked the question the door swung open; a new man entered the room. Castiel fought to avoid Dean’s gaze, seemingly pleading with the floor to fall out from underneath him. It only served to make the fire build, he pushed himself up off the mattress, trying to pretend the world didn’t lurch violently as he did so. Dean pushed his feet to the floor, hoping to feel less ambushed.

Meanwhile, Castiel swallowed, the sound echoing in Dean’s head.

‘’It is not my place- my superiors, they are right of course. They did what I could not do.’’

Dean snapped his eyes to the man who had entered. He was tall, dark-skinned and dressed immaculately. The Witcher could hear him clicking his tongue in humoured approval at Castiel’s answers. He sneered at the man before turning his piercing gaze back to Castiel, hoping he could feel the weight of his anger as acutely as he did.

‘’You coward! You're an absolute coward, Cas-’’

‘’Enough. We do not have time for your foolish Witcher aggression.’’ The man’s tone spoke of authority and wealth, a man used to barking orders and getting results. A man, perchance, unused to the roughness of an angered Witcher.

‘’And who are you?’’ Dean levelled him with a look of resolute fury, making a mental note when the man did less than flinch.

‘’Uriel. And it will do you well not to speak to me in such a tone, Castiel may accept your insolence but I certainly will not.’’ His vice was clipped, and he moved further into the room, Castiel moving consciously aside as if the men were two magnetic poles meeting.

Dean had never been smart enough to stand down a fight he couldn’t win.

‘’Oh, fuck off!’’

The air stood still, the guards in the hallway stopped breathing, their armoured chests no longer tinkling quietly at the movement. Castiel, now behind Uriel, looked up to assess the men. His fingers twitched at his side, blue eyes darting assessing.

An invisible hand wove around Dean’s throat, he felt the familiar sensation of pressure, the uncomfortable ingrained panic flare from the base of his spine. He grunted trying his best to move unresponsive limbs toward his throat as if he could throw off the incorporeal attacker. Dean schooled his breath to try no sputter or choke, wanting to give Uriel no such satisfaction, but harsh gasping breaths still rang out against the stone walls. Uriel watched him suffer for a full two minutes, Dean counting the seconds in his mind. Then a moment later, the pressure was gone.

‘’You will bathe and change. You are our guest, witcher, you will do as told.’’ Uriel’s voice held no flexibility, it was hard and rigid.

Dean’s hand had finally found his throat, the fingers rubbing the abused skin. And his reply was more of an incomprehensible grunt than actual words.

‘’I feel really welcome-’’

Uriel, thankfully, paid no mind to the grumble, turning on his heel. His eyes met those of Castiel, who was stood with an arm caught undecided between reaching out and sitting against his chest. The blue eyes blinked and lowered, the outstretched arm going back to his side.

‘’You have completed your job? Then leave.’’

Uriel’s bark seemed to unstuck any hesitation in the other sorcerer, ho startled, bowing his head before briskly walking away. Dean didn’t have time to listen for receding footsteps, blood still rushing around his ears. His anger was still a hot pit, but his self-preservation had finally kicked in to hold himself back.

‘’Witcher, I would warn you to hold your tongue and stow your anger.’’

Uriel was gone for all but an hour, in which time Dean reluctantly bathed, unable to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, at least, unable to look a steaming, warm bathtub appearing in his room as if by (actually by) magic in the mouth. And once he had finished scrubbing his annoyance out on his own pinkened skin, he pulled on the airy cloth of the white undershirt he had woken up in. His movements were back to the speed of a normal man, but Dean frowned at the remaining lethargy in his reflexes. Then pulled on smart woollen trousers and a matching doublet he half-heartedly laced up.

Upon Uriel’s return, Dean heard the vast number of armoured men long before he was advised it was in his best interest to follow politely and of his own volition. Uriel did not appreciate the sneer he got in return.

Dean’s back felt too light without his swords on his back, his fingers itched to pull a non-existent dagger out of his boot and slice the men’s throats. He considered the repercussions of using no weapons to snap one of the guard’s necks as his hands were shackled loosely together behind his back.

He followed down a twist of hallways and stairs, making a metal note of the journey. They descended into what must have been the antechamber to a great hall, large double doors standing at the south of the room. He could hear music and chatter through the wood, which became ever louder as the guardsmen on either side of him stopped.

‘’Come along, and you will mind your manners with his majesty.’’

Dean saved his witty retort, even if he managed to survive the wrath of a king, he wouldn’t survive Sammy’s reaction to finding out the why he had been scheduled for a beheading in the first place was due his incessant need to always have the last word.

The hall was large and for lack of a better term guilded. Rich cream and yellow material bunched over long glass windows, rows of wooden tables stretched each side of the room, covered in elaborate stacks of flaky pastries, roasted meats, exotic fruits and carafes of burgundy wine. At the top of the room, two large backed chairs sat against the golden lion banner, lounged a dark-haired man. The man laughed loudly, turning his head to look at Dean with the charm of a predator. His lips were stained wine red. A roaring fireplace and dozens of candelabras flickered golden light across the darkened space, casting dark shadows of snickering nobles.

The chattered died as he walked. Dean could feel the curious eyes weigh on him, and he once again rolled his shoulders hoping to feel the comforting weight of a sword against his shoulder blades.

‘’Master Witcher.’’

‘’Your Grace-’’ He did his best to incline his head politely, and bite back the attitude in his voice.

Michael must have been pleased with his effort, as he plucked himself from the throne. HE walked over languidly, taking a long circle around Dean. Deann bristled under the scrutiny, talking his anger back down.

‘’I told you he would yet be uncivil, Uriel. Untie his hands.’’

Uriel’s hands were cold as they brushed his, hastily undoing the shackles. Dean pulled his hands in front of him, circling his wrists uncomfortably.

‘’You are our most esteemed guest here, not a prisoner.’’ Michael continued his slow circling, talking to the room as much as he was to Dean. He used his arms to talk, moving gracefully, but his eyes remained solid and fixed on the Witcher. ‘’Please, feel free to walk to gardens, ask the servants to bring you any wine or food you would like-anything you might want. Merely ask, and it is yours.’’

‘’And if I want to walk past the gardens?’’ Dean moved his head to the side to keep the king’s gaze, watching a cruel smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth.

‘’Our gardens are vast- I cannot see what exists outside of them that we cannot precure for you. Hmm?’’

The room chattered in agreement, murmuring between them sycophantic praises. And Dean understood he was balancing on the right side of the king's favour.

‘’Your grace is very kind.’’ His teeth grated together as he spoke.

Michael tutted, circling in closer. His long-outstretched arm corralled Dean to the side of the room, in a familiar gesture, though it felt anything but. With their back to the room, Dean understood this was as private as court business was going to give.

‘’Dean, do you mind if I call you Dean?’’ Michael plucked a pastry from the stack, biting into it. ‘’You have a talent, a certain-’’ he paused licking jam and flakes of pastry of his smirk, before continuing, ‘’-a certain skill set is not easy to come by.’’

‘’Witchers kill monsters, not men.’’

‘’Then we are on the same page.’’ Dean did not appreciate the one lost chuckle Michael allowed himself, nor the glint of emotion in the king’s eyes. His voice held strong and uncompromising as steel as he spoke.

‘’I see you want to speak plainly, and so I shall. I have a monster I need to slay. Have you heard of a beast called Lucifer?’’

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Dean couldn’t say he was surprised at the king’s request. He was surprised the king thought a witcher would be a better assassin than one of his own men, but apparently more willing men had tried, and failed at this particular endeavour.

Dean knew the rumour mill well enough, having been around for long enough to pick up idle gossip between one tavern and the next.

Lucifer and Michael. All but brothers in their lineage. The branches of the ancestral tree twisting this way and back between the members of its inclusive royal fruit. Brought up together, educated together, everything together as was the way of young princes. Not a week would pass between one’s accomplishments, that the other had not mastered it also; hunting, writing, shooting riding. And the competition only continued to grow as they did. The rivalry fuelled by attention and favour. The cousins parted ways as their schooling ended, each with fists clenched and a promise to destroy one another.

It seemed each law, each treaty, each governance was made to stoke the fires of their rivalry. And with their ascension to the respective northern and southern thrones, there was naught left to do but begin an all-out war.

Dean contemplated the ridiculousness that humans bring about for a moment before huffing to himself, winding himself further into the gardens.

The sun was high in the afternoon sky, sun beating down, bathing the paving stones in bright white light. The lazy hum of insects filled the air, interrupted only by the occasional chirping song of the birds. Dean had spent most of the morning outside, at the far end of the grounds away from the castle. He still felt like a caged bird, but it was infinitely better than the cold stone confines of his chambers.

He walked the herb gardens and flower beds in long winding circles, naming the leaves he knew and picking out the location of useful herbs for future security. He marked the ones that could make effective poison if he came desperate enough to defend himself. He had asked the guards for a sword, even a wooden one so that he could keep his training, they didn’t have the balls to answer him. Dean took their frantic scurrying away as a ‘no’.

Pissed at the infinity of his capture, and bored of the hot sun beating down, Dean headed back toward the cool confines of his room. Maybe he could make a bludgeoning tool out of a bedpost. As he rounded the final corner to his room, quicklight footsteps came up beside him. Dean turned to look at Castiel.

His face was impassive, but he kept walking as Dean slowed, jerking his head to continue walking past the door of his chambers. Dean followed him quietly past the first corner and the next, as they reached the foot of a winding staircase, Dean finally coughed out a querying:

‘’Cas?’’

Castiel turned and looked at him instantly. Shaking his head minutely.

‘’Where are we-?’’

‘’Walls have ears, Dean.’’ Castiel’s voice was less than a whisper, merely words on breath. He looked sideways to see if Dean’s witcher hearing had caught it.

Dean snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, nodding ever so slightly in assent.

The wound up the steep staircase, the afternoon sun beating through long windows, making the temperature spike as they walked through the beams and drop suddenly as they left them. The landing was carpeted with plush rugs, muffling the sound of their shoes, as was the winding hallway Castiel directed him through.

When they at last entered the room, Dean could clearly see this was the sorcerer’s chambers. The room was large and comfortable, bracketed by shelves of books and equipment. A large bed took up the left side, canopied by silvered blue material, plush and neatly made. The rest of the room was less organised; papers and knickknacks strewn on the surfaces. Cushions lined the floor under the window, a stack of books working as a table for a still steaming cup of tea.

Castiel closed the door behind them with a gentle pull, Dean heard the _snick_ of a lock falling in place.

‘’Don’t be alarmed, these are just to give us some privacy.’’ Castiel’s voice was soft, and before Dean could ask what he was mean to not be alarmed about, the room glowed unearthly blue. Dean felt his breath catch, the spike of adrenaline, as the source of the light dimmed back to invisibility.

‘’I usually ask a man to buy me dinner first.’’ Dean’s voice was tight, but he hoped to alleviate some of the tightness in his chest with his usual humour.

‘’I bought your dinner two weeks ago.’’ Castiel gave him a small fond smile.

Dean looked at the man, seeing more of what he had seen on their past interactions in him in one sentence, than he had seen in the shell yesterday. The witcher let out a comfortable breath. He realised after a moment, that he was feeling relief.

‘’Someone's feeling better.’’ He offered a half smile to Cas.

The smile faulted on Castiel’s face, as if remembering the current situation.

‘’We need to talk’’ His voice was gruff and low as always. Castiel moved over to the corner of the room where a circle table and two armchairs sat. He bundled up the scrolled papers off of one chair and indicated Dean to take a seat.

‘’Alright. ‘’ Dean sat, leaning back against the comfortable fabric, eyes trained warily at the door in habit. Castiel placed the scrolls on the desk, before moving back to pick a box off of the other chair, placing it on his lap as he sat.

Silence stretched between the two men. Dean watched Castiel’s fingers fidget with the lip of the box, his nails running in the groove and lifting it momentarily, only to drop it gently a moment later. The sorcerer’s eyebrows were furrowed, but he made no move to speak. After an uncomfortable couple of moments, Dean spoke.

‘’You brought me here... But... you don’t actually want to say anything?’’

Castiel stood up, pausing as if deciding what to do. He eventually placed the box back where it had sat a moment before, instead moving toward the desk. Dean heard the man sigh several times. Dean just waited.

‘’It’s my fault you are here. I am truly sorry, Dean.’’ said Castiel. His eyes were locked onto Dean’s, making him uncomfortable under their weight as he always was. The man was bleeding sincerity, or he was the best actor Dean had come across in a long time. Dean took a moment to listen to the beat of his heart, the strength of his gaze but found no physiological signs of deceit. 

‘’No offence Cas, I think your boss is right. You did a shit job recruiting me. I’m not here because of you.’’ Dean wasn’t sure why he was reassuring the an, he told himself it was because the nervousness of Cas was rubbing off on him.

‘’I thought I had more time, I thought maybe I could warn you, help you block the tracking-tell you and Sam to get as far away-’’ Castiel was talking with his hands, walking the same five paces back and forth in front of his desk, pausing only when Dean interrupted him.

‘’Wouldn’t they have just killed you if you had done that?’’

‘’If only.’’ Cas muttered it more to himself, but Dean caught the gruff words, snapping his head up to glare at the other man. Castiel looked sheepish for a moment, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean walked over to Cas, he looked at the expanse of the man's wooden desk. He half wanted to say something reassuring but he couldn’t think of anything appropriate. It was a mess of papers and books; equipment Dean couldn’t even fathom the use for. At the end of the desk there were two glass vials filled with layered powder. Castiel resumed his quiet pacing.

Dean stared at the bottles, looking at the looped writing of the labels. He had made out ‘griffin’, his hand pulling out to hold the vial despite himself. He looked at it. Then picked up the other, ‘basilisk’ it read. Castiel tilted his head at Dean’s curiosity, seemingly unperturbed by his organised mess ebbing played with.

‘’Take them, you might get a chance to test my theory yet. Just add a bit of water and it should be potent enough.’’

The conversation of hypothetical baits resurged in Dean’s mind, setting the Witcher’s mind turning.

Dean nodded, holding the vials in one hand, his fingers curling across the glass noting how it was no longer cold in his grip. Something about the gesture, let his stomach unfurl. He had evidenced their conversations were not entirely baseless. He let out a deep breath, studying Cas, who was still shuffling through the number of tomes on his bookshelf.

‘’So aside from an apology’’ Dean let his voice trail off, watching Castiel pull a thick book off the shelf and putting it on the desk. He patted the cover and turned back to Dean.

‘’I’m sorry, it isn’t a good enough reason to endanger you, I know. I just, I couldn’t stand the idea of thinking I betrayed you-‘’

‘’We aren’t friends. How could you betray me?’’ Dean felt how harsh the words were as they came out, but there wasn’t anything he could think to say to backpedal. Castiel merely gave him a tight smile, moving toward the door.

‘’It’s okay, Dean. You need to be careful here.’’ The voice was earnest and uncomfortable again.

‘’I’m always careful.’’ Dean gave an attempt at his signature grin.

‘’You need to be _very_ careful, Dean.’’ Castiel said, his fingers curling around the door handle. ‘’Michael is not asking what you might think. Keep your wits about you. Now, I will walk you back to your chambers. That dust you inhaled was no half-measure I made it myself for subduing lesser vampires, you should rest.’’

Dean paused before walking over, ‘’If I am asked, did this conversation take place, Cas?

‘’What conversation?’’


End file.
